


Snapshots

by HoopyFrood



Category: Formula 1 RPF
Genre: Blow Jobs, F/M, Holidays, M/M, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-09
Updated: 2012-01-09
Packaged: 2017-10-29 07:15:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/317137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HoopyFrood/pseuds/HoopyFrood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three people on a holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snapshots

**Author's Note:**

> Most of these are based on actual quotes from Jackie Stewart that were in the December 2011 issue of Motorsport Magazine. And yes, Jackie did in fact carry François round on his back after he hurt his leg. How adorable is that?

_When he had his accident with Jody Scheckter in Canada, he hurt his ankle. Helen and I were intending to go to Bermuda, and François came with us, but we went to Niagara Falls first and then went to New York for one night._ – Jackie Stewart

The last strains of Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Free Bird tapered off, plunging the car into a comfortable silence.

They had been driving for hours, the scenery gradually changing from cityscape to forest. Yet there was still a wide, open road stretching out in front of them.

“How’re you doing back there?”

François leisurely looked up from his magazine to meet Jackie’s eyes in the rear view mirror. He gave him a lazy smile in response, carefree and unburdened.

Somewhere between their first rest stop and the last, he had stuck his foot half-way out of the car window, no doubt hoping for some relief from the throbbing pain in his leg, and splayed himself over the back seat. Anyone else would look awkward in such a position, body twisted up in the confined space of a car, but François always had the rather enviable ability of being able to arrange his limbs in an almost artistic manner.

And there, on the back seat of their Galaxie, he looked every inch the Parisian Prince.

In fact, it was the first time Jackie had seen him relaxed since his accident; the tense hunch of his shoulders having visibly eased and that familiar light in his eyes burning brighter with each mile.

Jackie inwardly sighed and slackened his grip on the steering wheel. He was glad François had accepted their holiday invitation. Granted, he hadn’t put up _much_ of a fight, but Jackie knew he was still feeling conflicted about intruding on his and Helen’s little getaway.

Idiot. As if they’d ever not want to spend more time with him outside of the race track, Jackie thought with fondness.

With a slight crackle, the unmistakable guitars of Bob Dylan’s Knockin’ on Heaven’s Door began to filter through the speakers. Jackie reached out to change the station, body on autopilot.

Behind him, François made a small sound of pleasure and pushed himself up onto his elbows. “No, wait. Leave this on,” he urged.

Jackie’s hand stilled and his eyes darted back up to the mirror; François was quietly singing along, his lips lovingly molding the words like a prayer.

“Jackie, watch the road,” Helen murmured teasingly from the passenger seat, amused by her husband’s distraction. And the reason for it.

He squeezed her knee in apology and turned his attention back ahead. Subconsciously straining his hearing, just in case, the entire way to Niagara Falls.

***

François laughed loudly and leaned over the safety bar; gazing down through the misty spray to the swirling pools beneath, utterly bewitched.

“François, be careful,” Helen chided with a soft, fond smile.

“If you fall, I’m not diving in after you,” Jackie added, joining him over by the rail for a closer look.

The view was breathtaking.

And the drop below stomach churning.

Jackie found it hard to equate beauty with destruction when he’d seen so many bodies twisted up in metal, but there was no denying that here; the two went hand in hand.

“Makes you feel almost insignificant, doesn’t it?”

Jackie inclined his head towards François in acknowledgement, absentmindedly thinking the Frenchman could never be anything remotely insignificant. Not even when faced with the thunderous crash of water. Or the roar of an engine.

“Come on, photo time,” Helen said, bouncing slightly on her toes as she held up the camera. She glanced around briefly, seeking out a fellow tourist to take the photo for them, before approaching a young couple that were willing to help.

“Good idea.”

François grabbed Jackie and tugged him against his side; already beaming as Helen handed over the camera and scurried back to them.

Jackie rolled his eyes and let Helen settle in the crook of his right arm. They shuffled around at the insistence of their volunteer – to the left a bit, huddle in closer – until the Falls in the background framed them perfectly. A happy family of three.

Jackie glanced at François out of the corner of his eye and bit his lip. There was a chill in the air that had turned his cheeks an attractive pink. Jackie’s skin tingled. The urge to have François nestled intimately within his arms, mirroring Helen on his other side, was almost overwhelming.

Chancing it, he slipped his hand into the back pocket of François’ trousers. Unseen and secret. The most he could get away with.

With a click and a thank you, it was done. The moment captured forever.

François brushed his fingers across Jackie’s neck as he pulled away. “Naughty,” he whispered.

Jackie shrugged, an impish grin curling at his lips.

“So, what’s the plan now, boys?” Helen looked between the two of them. The camera now back to hanging safely round her neck.

“We should go on the Maid of the Mist tour,” François suggested and pointed to a board with a chalk drawn picture of a boat advertising the departure times.

Jackie nodded. “Definitely, if only to see your hair frizz up.”

“Ignore him,” Helen patted François on the arm, her eyes shining in mischief. “You can borrow my headscarf.”

François grinned widely and gave Jackie a sidelong glance.

“Blue _is_ my colour.”

Helen pursed her lips, desperately trying to keep a straight face, as François untied the knot of fabric under her chin and pulled the scarf over his own head.

“How do I look?” He said, striking a silly pose.

“Gorgeous.”

They dissolved into giggles, poking and prodding each other in their mirth. Like two overgrown children.

Jackie, reluctant to interrupt, braced himself back against the rail. He inhaled deeply, letting the fresh air burn his lungs, and allowed himself a small smile.

Right now, there was nowhere else he’d rather be.

***

“Are you sure you don’t want to come with us?” Jackie asked for the fifth time.

“I’m positive,” François insisted, catching Helen’s hand and spinning her around before she could escape into the bathroom. “The two of you need some time alone.”

“You know we don’t mind,” Helen laughed as she untangled herself from François’ clutches.

She was wearing a stylish little black dress; the very one that François had quickly purchased without her noticing when the three of them went shopping earlier in the day. He presented it to her in a flourish when they got back to their hotel, and got a kiss on the cheek and a half-hearted slap on the arm for his trouble. A good day’s work, as far he was concerned.

Jackie watched with a frown. He knew François intended to disappear off into the city. Which, of course, he had no problem with; but his leg was still obviously giving him trouble. And there were only so many grimaces of pain Jackie could take seeing on the other man’s face.

“You can barely walk,” he said once Helen left the room, knowing that she'd more than likely take François' side.

“But we’re in New York,” François countered, as if that was all the explanation he needed to give.

Jackie gave him a blank look, unimpressed.

François shook his head and slowly closed the distance between them. There was a slight wobble to his footing which he was clearly trying to hide. Another disapproving remark was on the tip of tongue Jackie’s at the sight of it.

“I’ve got things to do, people to see.”

“I bet you do.”

François caught Jackie’s chin, forcing him to look up into his eyes.

“I promise I’ll be thinking of you the entire time,” he drawled, lowering his voice. His breath slithered over Jackie’s lips; warm, moist and utterly seductive.

Jackie snorted and batted his hand away.

“ _Fine_ , do what you want.”

François cheekily kissed him on the nose and went to grab his jacket that had been flung over the back of their hotel suite’s sofa.

“It’s not as if I can stop you, I’m not your father,” Jackie carried on. Somewhat mollified by François’ charm.

“I should hope not!” François screwed up his face in distaste. “Because I’m really not into that sort of thing.”

Helen unfortunately chose that moment to remerge, a delicate waft of perfume following her out. “I really don’t want to know what you’re talking about, do I?” She raised her eyebrows at the two men as she slipped on a pair of gloves.

“Probably not,” Jackie admitted and held the door open for her. Just before closing it behind them, he turned back to François. “We’ll see you later.”

François saluted. “Au revoir, Papa.”

His only response was a bark of laughter.

***

_In Bermuda we had a two-bedroom apartment and every night we'd go to the Ocean Reef Club, and he would play the piano. The place was full of very old people, pretty dead! But when he played the whole place lit up._ – Jackie Stewart

It was like falling in love with him all over again.

Jackie watched enraptured as François’ fingers danced across the keys; head bowed in concentration and back elegantly curved. His fringe had fallen down in front of his eyes, casting them into shadow. But Jackie knew they were closed. Those delicate lashes fanned out over high cheekbones – it was a sight he was all too familiar with.

He’d seen François play the piano countless times.

The Frenchman never missed an opportunity to coax Jackie onto the seat next to him and patiently guide his fingers into a simple tune. Jackie always relished the closeness, relished François’ _delight_ when he managed to string the notes together in a vaguely correct order.

Then there were the times when he was just one in a sea of many. The pride he felt when watching him play for awed friends, impressed colleagues and joyful family members was immeasurable.

But to see him captivate a room of strangers into silence was something else entirely. Even the waiters and waitresses had stilled; standing in between the tables, their trays full of drinks hovering uselessly in the air.

They were wooed, entranced, _captivated_.

Jackie could understand.

He let the music wash over him, marveling when, with an intricate twist of François’ hands, Beethoven’s Pathetique seamlessly transformed into a piece of upbeat ragtime.

Suddenly, everyone was on their feet; old couples pulling each other up and into the middle of the room, a youthful energy overtaking them.

François disappeared from sight as bodies swarmed Jackie’s view. He craned his neck, desperately trying to catch a glimpse – like a lovestruck teenager, he thought with a shred of disbelief.

How was it François still managed to make him feel like that?

***

François appeared in the doorway of his room, hair mussed and sleepy eyed.

“Where’s Helen?” He yawned into his fist.

“She’s gone for a walk along the beach,” Jackie replied distractedly, too busy trying to get the toaster to work. “Come and sit down; I’ve made you some breakfast.”

François hobbled into the small kitchen, bypassing the table to slip his arms round Jackie’s waist.

“Morning,” he murmured into the side of Jackie’s neck, purposely dragging his lips across his skin. Jackie leaned back into the embrace, dropping the cutlery down onto the counter to rest his hands over François’ linked ones on his stomach.

“Sleep well?”

“Well enough.”

Jackie cocked his head to the side, offering his neck up fully to the Frenchman’s clever mouth as a warm contentedness settled over him.

“That girl you were talking to last night,” he began conversationally. “She was stunning.” The ‘you could have brought her back’ went unsaid.

“But she wasn’t you.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

François circled the shell of Jackie’s ear with his tongue and dipped his fingers just under the waist band of Jackie’s boxer shorts. He teasingly rested them there for a few moments, before sliding them down until he grazed hot, hard flesh.

“Maybe I am.”

Jackie hissed and clutched at the work surface. “François,” he warned, voice tight.

François chuckled. With a feather like touch, he traced the length of Jackie’s cock right up to the tip. He thumbed the head, pushing his blunt fingernail lightly into the sensitive slit, and slowly slid Jackie’s underwear down with his free hand. “Turn around.”

Jackie wordlessly obeyed and looked up at François expectantly.

Satisfied, François elegantly dropped to his knees with a small thud. He trailed his hands up Jackie’s thighs, savoring the feel of the other man shiver under his touch. Leaning forward, François ghosted his lips across the head of Jackie’s erection – never one for missing an opportunity to torment – before eagerly sucking it into his mouth.

Jackie’s hands flew to François’ head, his fingers tangling in the soft curls as the burn of pleasure flashed through him. François smiled around his mouthful. He loved the sharp sting of Jackie pulling at his hair.

He bobbed shallowly at first, pushing his tongue firmly against the underneath of Jackie’s cock. Then, slowly, he began to slip down, taking as much of Jackie in his mouth as he could. The ache in his jaw was a welcome presence after having spent the night alone.

“F-Fuck,” Jackie stuttered and slid his hands round to the back of François’ skull. Gently urging him on.

François hummed, the soft vibrations drawing a moan deep from within Jackie’s throat and an involuntary thrust from his hips. He gripped the base of Jackie’s cock in retaliation, pumping in time with slide of his mouth.

Jackie watched himself disappear between François’ lips; too dazed to warn him of the familiar build of pressure that was mounting, until he was spilling across Francois’ half-open mouth with a long, shuddering groan.

François sat back on his haunches and swiped at his lips. The very picture of composure.

“Can you get up?” Jackie asked after a few seconds to catch his breath.

“I’m not a complete invalid.”

“Oh, so I’ve been carrying around someone else on my back this entire holiday?”

François gingerly got to his feet and draped himself over Jackie’s front as if he belonged there. He cupped the Scot’s cheek and drew him into a deep kiss. It was languid, almost messy in its lack of finesse; as if they were both still not quite awake. Jackie was happy to let François take control.

“So, where’s my breakfast?”

***

Jackie hefted François higher up on his back.

It was hot, uncomfortably so, and Jackie could feel beads of sweat slowly make their way down the front of his shirt. He watched as Helen, a few feet in front of them, swayed to a soundless tune and slowly led them back to their apartment. She clutched her heels tightly in one hand, having slipped them off almost as soon as they stepped out of the Ocean Reef Club. Jackie couldn’t help but feel a little envious.

It was a beautiful night, and there was a distinct calmness, a finality almost, drifting along on the breeze.

Tomorrow they would be leaving the island and heading back to New York for the race at the weekend. If Jackie was honest, he didn’t want to leave. Lounging in the sun with Helen and François day after day was – as cliché as it sounded – paradise. All that was missing were the kids, then it’d be _perfect_.

Jackie felt François shift, putting his musings to a halt.

“What do you think I should do?” François whispered close to his ear, the soft rumble slicing through the quiet.

“About what?”

“Ferrari,” François leaned his chin on Jackie’s shoulder and exhaled sharply through his nose in frustration. “If I don’t sign soon, they’ll get someone else.”

Jackie tightened his grip on François’ legs. It wasn’t the first time he’d brought up next season since they’d been away, and Jackie couldn’t blame him for being so insistent. Especially when Ferrari had been hounding him.

He knew the uncertainty was eating away at François, and he really wanted nothing more than to tell him that, come Sunday, he’d _finally_ be Tyrell’s number one. No more patiently following Jackie’s tyre tracks. It was torture, all this waiting. But he knew it’d be worth it. As long as he, and François, could hold out for a few more days.

“Who are they going to get that’s better than you?” Jackie said with good humour.

François didn’t answer.

“Just wait a little bit longer,” Jackie pleaded. “Trust me.”

For a moment, all he could hear were the crickets – hundreds of them chirping away in the long grass – until François chuckled and placed a soft kiss behind his ear. “I trust you.”

Such simple words, said with such sincerity. Jackie felt his chest clench in adoration.

“The car’s going to be amazing next year,” he continued, imaging François in the new model; slowly memorising every curve of the chassis. He couldn’t help but feel excited at the thought, even though he wouldn’t be driving alongside him.

“As if you’d accept anything less,” François joked, knowing how true that really was.

“You’re one to talk.”

“I’ve learnt from the best.” It was an easy admission.

“You can only be the best for so long.”

François paused. Was that a clue to next season’s starting line-up? “You’ll always be the best."

Jackie laughed in surprise. That was François, forever loyal – even when confronted with so much ambiguity involving his career. His _life_. Jackie would miss fighting him for that much desired middle spot on the podium. But no one deserved to claim it for himself more than François. And Jackie couldn't wait to see him do so.

“I don’t know. Have you met my teammate? A real pain in the backside, but he’s pretty good.”

“Poor guy,” François gasped dramatically. “I can’t imagine what he’s had to put up with.”

Jackie jerked his body, making François yelp and then snicker in quick succession.

The US Grand Prix would be theirs.


End file.
